Recognising Pain
by YetAnotherObsessiveFangirl
Summary: When John winds up in a dark room, can he still trust the man he once thought to be his friend? If not, will anybody be there to help him? Just a little something, rubbish summary.


**AN: I must say that I am sorry for not updating 'Luring Him Back'. I have got the next chapter ready but I don't actually have any internet right now as I moved house and nobody seems bothered to change the address with the broadband people. I'm only on here now because my grandmother finally let me use her computer. Only, this is the only thing I have saved on my email so I'm here with this as a sign that I am alive. **

**So... I actually wrote this a while ago and did actually have a kind-of beta: TUYCCTBMLS. Who is awesome. Obviously. Yeah. Onward to the actual interesting things...**

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"Sebastian...?" John called out. He looked around the gloomy room and thought he recognised his old army friend. He strained his eyes and examined the room and its sinister shadows. John couldn't quite make out the dark figure that stood before him. The shadowed form moved slightly towards him but uttered no sound. A light appeared briefly and flickered in the corner before it went out again. John jumped as the light flashed on and off. He was convinced that that was his army friend, Sebastian Moran.

_Huh? Seb's here? What? Am I still in the army? Have I had a mental breakdown and imagined Sherlock Holmes? I __**can't**__ still be in the army. All of that couldn't have been in my mind. Could it? _John shook his head to clear away the thoughts.

"S—Sebastian, is that you?" John chewed the inside of his lip nervously and grimaced as the metallic taste of blood coated his teeth. Suddenly a dark shape loomed towards John, hitting him square on the nose; and then a cold, hard laugh echoed around the room

John hadn't expected the violent blow; he hadn't been prepared and as a result, felt the full force of it blossom across his face. He cried out and stumbled to the floor, the fist knocking him dizzy. He crouched on the floor and blood began to stream from his nose. Around the ringing in his ears, John heard a faint 'CLANG' coming from somewhere else in the building, alongside a muffled voice that yelled out….

"W—who's th—there?" John's voice was dominated by the pain and he could not hide his fear; body shaking.

A booming laugh emitted from the dark figure. The other voice called out again, this time clear enough to hear, "John... get out... help..." John stumbled to his feet as the lights snapped on. He looked around and saw Sebastian… with Moriarty. John's eyes flicked to the corner of the room and he saw Sherlock slumped against the wall, clutching his side. Recognition flashed in his eyes, his best friend was in a pool of his own blood. John froze - the word 'Sherlock' on his lips. He mentally shook himself and sprinted towards _his_ consulting detective.

"Sherlock, as _if_ I'm leaving you..." John was terrified, but he tried to convey confidence in his voice. He took Sherlock's blood stained hand in a firm grip and found the source of the bleeding. A knife was imbedded in Sherlock's side. John pulled him close and stroked his head, rocking back and forth. "You're going to be fine. Just stay calm... breathe rhythmically." As John cradled his dying friend, he looked up to his assailants – but he looked up too late. His face was struck by another devastating blow from Sebastian who had slinked up behind the army doctor. John's head snapped back, but he still kept a tight hold on his friend.

Sherlock moaned softly, "Please John... Leave... Save y—yourself. I'm fine..." he winced slightly as John's clothes rubbed against the knife. "Please... John... I am b-b—begging you..."

Sebastian stepped back and laughed coldly, "How nice. Always loyal. Even in their last moments..."

John wouldn't leave Sherlock's side, he refused to. "I'm not leaving you Sherlock. I can't leave you... I just can't..." John heard the familiar sound of Sebastian's voice. He gently propped Sherlock up against the wall and stood up, slowly turning to face his old army friend. Without warning, John grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. "You. Repel. Me. We were friends! Sherlock is _not_ going to die; I'll die before I let you kill him!" he does!"

John pushed Sebastian away roughly and knelt next to Sherlock, grabbing his friend's hand and pulling the detective towards himself. "Sherlock..." He cradled his best friend's head and tears fell from John's eyes into Sherlock's hair. Sherlock was becoming heavier, his life was slipping away and John felt powerless.

"Well, if you insist." As soon as the words left Sebastian's lips, John received another fist to his face. This time fiercer, it was meant to hurt, aimed to damage. Sherlock's eyes flickered, "Please John... I can't get out... But y-you... Need to leave..." his breaths shortened. "Please... This isn't... the end..."

John struggled on the floor, but managed to push Sherlock out of the crossfire. Drops of blood fell from several parts on his face and onto the cold, hard floor. He looked at Sherlock and then at Sebastian, and then back to Sherlock.

"I—I can't cope without you Sherlock. I can't..." John didn't know what to do. Face death and save his friend or escape and leave his best friend to die? Sherlock reached out, the effort obviously paining him, and gently wiped the blood out of John's eyes. "I'll be f-f-fine... I'll come and find you... John..." he smiled weakly, "I... promise..."

John listened to him and laughed through his tears, holding Sherlock's hand as it brushed his face. John's left eye flickered for barely a second. "You've promised. You've promised me..." John stumbled to his feet and sprinted towards the exit. He may have been the oldest person in the room but by no means was he the slowest; Sebastian knew this and didn't even try to stop him – which earned him a scowl from Moriarty.

Sherlock watched his only friend race away from him. He turned his head towards the pair who had caused all of this. "So... you... got what you w-wanted" he winced, grasping his side.

Jim tilted his head to one side and smiled. "I suppose I did. To be honest Sherlock, I thought he'd put up more of a fight. But he still is your brave little soldier." He drawled. Jim turned and whispered in Sebastian's, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, "Get after him, follow him. If he as much as calls for help, shoot him. Like lamb for slaughter." Sebastian jogged off and Jim looked back at Sherlock, approaching him slowly. "Does that hurt, my sweet prince?" He taunted. He rested his foot on Sherlock's injured side and watched as the consulting detective writhed in pain.

Trying not to cry out, Sherlock clenched his teeth. "I _NEVER _break... m-my promises." As Jim pushed the polished point of his shoe against Sherlock, his life with John flashed before his eyes. The lab... The phone... His sister... At their first crime scene: John helping to prove a point... The gun... Buckingham... H.O.U.N.D... John... Baskerville lab... As the memories raced through his mind, Sherlock desperately fought the cloud of blackness pressing against his consciousness.

"You're no fun when you're trying to prove a point." Jim relieved the pressure from Sherlock's side and span around in a comical style. Sherlock gasped, thankful for the clean, crisp air entering his lungs. "Sebastian's like my pet, y'know." Jim continued. "I mean you had John, so you understand what I mean. I wonder how my little sniper is getti-"He was interrupted as the door to the room burst open. Jim was expecting to see Sebastian, but instead was met by John – a calm rage evident in the army doctor's eyes. Jim smirked.

"Oh John, did you really think that you could beat me?" Moriarty drawled, amusement drifting across his face. John smiled. The laughter left Jim's face when a dozen or so armed police officers flooded into the room, followed by a seething Lestrade.

"This is too easy. It's too easy. SEBASTIAN!" Jim cursed inwardly, looking John in the eyes with a despising glare. The police officers trained their guns on the consulting criminal as Lestrade motioned silently to an unseen person. Paramedics emerged and surrounded Sherlock.

John and Sherlock had won...

Or had they?

Suddenly, Sebastian burst into the room from an entrance concealed within the walls. Clutching his rifle, he aimed it and pulled the trigger. The sound of the bullet rang through the room along with John's yell. He fell back against the wall, sliding down it as blood blossomed from the centre his chest.  
"NO!" Sherlock pushed away the paramedics on himself and lumbered towards John; forcefully moving through the crowd of people around his army doctor. This time, it was Sherlock who cradled his best friend.

"John, everything is going to be alright... I swear you'll be okay..." He stroked John's hair, his own pain all but forgotten. Turning to the paramedics he quietly and calmly said, "You make sure he stays with us. If you don't I'll... I'll make things very... Difficult for you..." Choking back tears, he turned to Jim and Sebastian. "You won't get away with this. As long as I have breath left in my body. You. Will. Pay."

"We've already got what we came for Sherly... Didn't you realise John would call for help? I knew you'd send John away. This is how I intended to burn you. I'd burn you by killing you pet. And it's worked, he won't survive that. Unless God thinks his time has not come yet." Jim sang, holding out his arms. "Alright boys, take me away..." An evil smile filled his face as Lestrade snapped cuffs on him and his sniper. "I'll see you at the murder trial, Sherly." He and Sebastian were shoved forward and out of the room by a snarling Lestrade, who was purposely trying to cause them some pain.

Sherlock turned back to John, who had been moved onto his back. His breathing was barely visible, his jumper clad chest scarcely moving. Sherlock slumped against the wall. How could he be so _stupid_? Not only had he been wrong, he'd most likely killed John in the process. Pushing the paramedics away from his side, he looked at John. "I'm so sorry... This is all my f—fault..."

And then Sherlock did something that he hadn't done since he and Mycroft were small children. He prayed. He prayed that John would live. He prayed that they would finally see justice. He prayed and prayed and prayed. His eyes tightly shut, tears rolling off his long wet eyelashes.

As Sherlock broke from his prayer, he could've sworn he saw John stir in the corner of his eye. Was this wishful thinking or was John still fighting? As the paramedics administered oxygen and applied pressure to his chest, his eyelids flickered. Sherlock gripped John's hand tighter and cradled his friend's head. Even though he had his eyes closed, John knew that it was Sherlock. His eyes fluttered open and the paramedics removed the oxygen mask.

"John? John!" Sherlock embraced John, careful not to disturb the bullet wound. His tears of relief mingled with John's blood and his own. "I'm s-so so sorry John..."

"S-Sherlock... are we dead..?" John's eyes were droopy and his breathing heavy but nothing could stop this embrace. "And d—don't apologise... It really doe-doesn't suit you..." John smiled, and then coughed violently, a small trickle of blood leaking from his mouth.

Sherlock's face grew alarmed, but he didn't want to scare John. Chuckling quietly, Sherlock said. "No, we're not... _dead_. Thank God. Wouldn't like to spend all of eternity _here_..."

"Mr Holmes, we need to take you both to hospital. Dr Watson may be strong but he still needs monitoring and that bullet removing. And your knife wound needs medical attention." A paramedic said. Sherlock turned to the speaker, "Thank you" he said with a genuine smile covering his angular features.

"I thought that if this was heaven... some people would be disappointed..." John smiled at Sherlock and grasped his hand in a firmer grip. The room was beginning to empty, and the paramedic who had spoken with Sherlock had rushed away to find a stretcher. Soon the room was unoccupied, except for Sherlock and John. Sherlock watched them leave and pressed John's hand to his lips, "I'm glad you're okay, I don't know what I would've done if you'd..." He trailed off, not wanting to think about it.

"You aren't getting rid of me that easily..."


End file.
